


you’re turning my insides, you’re making me wish

by grace



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 16:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11383650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace/pseuds/grace
Summary: Tommy moves to LA and has feelings.





	you’re turning my insides, you’re making me wish

**Author's Note:**

> This is 10000000% fictional. Please be chill and respectful and do not in any way bring to the attention of the people named!!
> 
> Thank you to [hardlythewiser (sequinedfairy)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sequinedfairy/pseuds/hardlythewiser) for smart help making this better!

It’s midnight and Tommy can’t sleep so he’s packing up his dishes.

When his mind started racing he had gotten up and walked through the house like he sometimes does, just checking on things. He ended up in the kitchen drinking a glass of water and staring at the cabinet full of dishes that he was going to have to pack soon. So he thinks _fuck it_ , and tapes together a cardboard box from the stack lying in the hall that he picked up the other day.

Then he realizes he doesn’t have any packing material yet. But he’s in the thing now, so he puts on his running shoes and goes driving around, raiding racks of free dailies until his passenger seat is full of cheap newsprint.

He starts wrapping up each dish carefully and slowly. He puts his earbuds in and listens to one of the PSTW eps. He might as well not waste this time while his brain is humming but fairly clear and give himself some notes for improvement.

It’s after 1am when he hears the text notification through his headphones. His pulse spikes, but when looks at his screen it’s just a pic on whatsapp from Lovett. He smiles and opens it. It’s Lovett’s familiar favorite date shoes, standing forlornly on the sidewalk, toes tucked in toward each other, next to a graffiti on the pavement saying _don’t blame me, I voted for the mothman_. It’s sent just to Tommy, not the group chat.

 _How inconsiderate_ , Tommy messages back one handed, the other hand holding a half wrapped up mug. _You woke me from a sound slumber._

 _Ha ha ha HA_ , responds Jon, immediately.

 _Jerk_ , Tommy sends back.

Tommy frowns a little at the mug in his hand. Is Jon wandering around LA on his own after 1am on a Thursday, or is he ignoring his date to message Tommy? Either way, things are not going great.

He is thinking through the wording to ask when his screen lights up with Jon’s current contact picture - him hiding his face in Pundit’s fur. He’s calling. Tommy picks up, feeling lighter.

“I just think the mothman really did a good job appealing to a key under-addressed demographic and if we’d given him the nomination we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Jon starts off immediately.

Tommy laughs, warm and open. He puts the mug down.

“What the fuck are you doing Vietor,” demands Jon, veering direction in his usual dizzying fashion. He’s moving away from the mothman bit before Tommy can frame a joke in response, but Tommy doesn’t mind. His brain is tired and he wouldn’t have been that funny with it anyway. He isn’t totally sure what the mothman is.

“How’d you know I was awake?” he asks instead.

“I didn’t,” said Jon blandly. “But since I’ve got you on the phone now, can I fill you in on a fucking nightmare?”

Tommy spends 45 minutes listening to Jon on speaker deconstruct with vitriol what to Tommy sounds like a fairly inoffensive if bland first date, while Tommy wraps up the rest of his mugs and glasses. He doesn’t want the newspaper crinkling sound to bother Jon, so he puts the phone on mute and unmutes it every now and then to say “mm-hmm” and “whoa” and laugh.

He feels warm and calm after he finishes packing, looking at the empty cabinet. It’s always good to feel like progress has been made.

Jon’s wrapping the story up, rambling off on tangents, and he must have gotten home, since Tommy hears jingling and Pundit’s sleepy annoyed huff.

“There’s Pundit! Put Pundit on,” says Tommy.

Pundit woofs and Jon says “Tommy? Go the fuck to sleep, Tommy,” in his adorable Pundit voice.

“Okay Pundit. Okay,” laughs Tommy. “Take care of your dad okay?”

“When is Tommy coming to live with us in LA and spoil me rotten?” asks Jon sulkily, still as Pundit.

“Soon buddy,” says Tommy. “Very soon.”

After they hang up, Jon messages a bar bathroom mirror selfie of him in his date night outfit, with the message _look at all the work I did to look good for someone who voted for jill stein :(_

He’s wearing that super super soft looking grey Henley with the neck falling open and a nice cardigan, and his hair looks really good, like he spent a lot of time getting it to look tousled in the just the best, most inviting way. He has his best cute angry sulky face on, nose wrinkled. It’s so fucking adorable. Tommy can’t stop running his thumb over the phone screen and smiling.

 _Looking good Lovett_ , he sends back. _That fuckwad doesn’t know what he’s missing out on by having incorrect opinions_. After a moment of thought he adds, _Goodnight. It’ll all be better in the morning_.

 _Goodnight favorite von trapp child_ , says Jon.

Tommy drinks a glass of water, gets into bed, puts on a Headspace meditation. His brain and his body are still humming though. He picks his phone back up off the nightstand, opens the whatsapp thread with Jon again, scrolls up and down re-reading it, looks at the picture. He bites his lip. Fuck. Jon is so, so cute. And sweet and smart. What the fuck kind of douchenozzle spends an evening with Lovett barfing out his own bad opinions rather than shutting up and listening in appreciation? Tommy feels a familiar protective burn in his chest.

Jon is so great, and people just don’t see it all the time or honestly ever right at first, and they are just so fucking wrong. Fuck. So sweet and so fucking cuddle-able, in that fucking soft cardigan. Tommy feels his whole body flush. Even though he’s all alone and no one could know, he feels guilty about his thoughts. Fuck.

He slides his hand down his belly, other hand still holding the phone, still looking at the picture of Jon. Jon’s collarbones. The mixture of sturdiness and delicacy in his frame – his broad shoulders and his sweet delicate hands. The mixture of amusement and wariness in his bright tired looking eyes. Fuck fuck fuck. Tommy’s mouth is dry and his whole body prickles with heat. He wants to smell Jon’s hair. He wants to kiss Jon’s cheek and pick him up and hold him, keep him safe. It’s a weird dumb tame fantasy, as always, but alone in this place Tommy tried hard to make a home of and failed, it almost physically aches, to want something this much.

***

It’s Tommy’s first Saturday in LA. _I’m running by your house_ , he messages Jon, waiting at a light and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the collar of his t-shirt. He isn’t really, but he can be.

_So?_  
_Are you just bragging or is that like a threat._  
_You’re not better than me. I ran last night._  
_Like a long way._

Tommy smiles to himself at Jon’s prickliness. _Can I come in for a sec? It’s hot as shit_.

 _Well if you had just moved into the compound with us instead of having “a life” and “boundaries” you wouldn’t have this issue_ , huffs Jon. _Door’s unlocked. I’m still in bed. Like reasonable people are_.

Tommy sprints the last half mile, because he was kinda slacking before and he should really push himself at some point during this run or it’s pointless. At Jon’s door he waits for a minute to catch his breath, leaning over with his hands braced on his knees, before barging in obnoxiously loudly so Jon knows he’s there.

He heads into the kitchen, drinks two full glasses of water and starts poking through the fridge before Pundit bestirs herself to pad in and see what’s going on. Tommy picks her up, scratches behind her ears and kisses the top of her head. He hasn’t heard anything from Jon’s room so he walks over, peeks through the open door.

Jon’s flopped on his belly across his unmade bed, scrolling through his phone, his socked feet in the air. Contrary to his message he seems very awake and what passes for dressed for Jon, sweatpants and a hoodie. He’s biting the cuticle of his thumb and doesn’t look up at Tommy right away.

Tommy’s not sure why he feels a stab of disappointment. He hadn’t allowed himself to fully think through what he was asking when he texted or what he thought Jon’s response meant, but he guesses the answer’s no today. That’s okay.

“Good morning Lovett. Do you have anything to make a sandwich?” he asks nicely.

Jon huffs and throws his phone down, rolls over onto his back. He looks at Tommy finally, upside down. Tommy smiles at him and hangs winningly off his doorframe.

“What is wrong with you,” says Jon rudely. “You can’t just barge into my house and make yourself a sandwich. I can’t believe you still don’t understand that we no longer share a household. It’s been years.”

This stings a surprising amount, in Tommy’s chest. Jon must be having a bad morning for some reason. Tommy covers his hurt with a pretend wince and sidles closer to the bed, so he’s standing over Jon. He acts like he’s making to wring his sweaty t-shirt out onto Jon and Jon screeches, scoots backwards.

This gives Tommy ideas. He starts to crawl onto the bed – very slowly, so that if it really bothers Jon Tommy will be able to read it in his face and stop.

“ _No_ , Tommy!” says Jon, but he’s laughing now, scooting backwards on his elbows up the bed. Tommy grabs his ankles and pulls him back down. Jon puts his hands over his face and makes a sound of indignant disgust. Tommy crawls up slowly and drapes himself over Jon obnoxiously, slowly leaning his whole sweaty weight onto him.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” complains Jon. His hands are in loose fists now, pinned against Tommy’s chest.

Tommy leans on his elbows and looks down at Jon’s flushed laughing face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Did you think you were going to get rid of me by being a jerk?”

Something complicated passes over Jon’s face. “I know I've been an asshole, since you got back,” he says, quietly.

Tommy doesn’t comment on the word _back_ , even though didn’t come back. He followed Lovett and Favs to a brand-new place. But he knows what Jon means. “No,” he says automatically. “You’re not really a jerk. It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” asks Jon. He’s started playing with the drawstring of his hoodie and not looking at Tommy anymore. Their faces are inches apart and Tommy can feel Jon’s whole body under his, so small and solid and soft and warm. Tommy’s pulse keeps jumping but he’s keeping his breathing slow and steady because he knows how to do that. Good thing he’s already bright red from running.

“I’m not sure,” says Tommy.

Jon makes a quick complicated facial expression, almost like a wince. “You still like me though, right?” he says.

“I still like you,” says Tommy.

“Hmmm. Okay. I’m still funny, right?”

“You’re so fucking funny.”

“I’m smart, right?”

“You’re the smartest.”

Jon looks up at him. “And you think I’m cute, right?”

Tommy wrinkles his nose in mock reluctance. “Well….” he says.

“Fuck you,” laughs Jon. “And you were doing so well. Being such a good boyfriend surrogate.”

Those words embolden Tommy. He doesn’t think he was wrong after all, here. Jon’s not just grumpy this morning– he’s doing the thing he does where he has to ask without asking. Tommy’s fine with that. He’s always been fine with acting like it’s all his idea.

He slides his palms up the bed so he can lean in slowly, eyes still on Jon’s til he leans in and catches Jon’s lower lip softly between his. Jon sighs and arches up into him immediately and. Fuck. Tommy’s skin burns hot and he’s getting hard, just like that. So fucking easy for this, always.

Jon’s lower lip is the softest thing in the world and Tommy makes himself slow the kiss down, make it soft and sweet and gentle. No tongue, just gentle slow presses of his mouth against Jon’s. When Jon tries to lean up into it, change the pace, Tommy shifts so he can rest his thumb gently right on the hollow of Jon’s throat – just the lightest of touches, _slow down_.

Jon makes a sound at that, and Tommy feels it reverberating through his throat and into Tommy’s hands. Fuck. How long has it been? A long time. Not for months and months, like this – in a bed, slow and sweet. There was a time more recently in a restaurant bathroom –rushed, rougher. Jon tipsy and teasing Tommy all night, brutally, mercilessly until Tommy couldn’t stop blushing and even Favs stopped laughing and looked mildly concerned. But all Jon wanted was for Tommy to follow him into the bathroom and shove him up against the locked door, dirty and rough, Tommy’s thigh pressed between Jon’s legs and his hand clenched in the back of Jon’s hair, pulling too hard. Tommy can do that. He’s good at that.

But he’s also good at this and he feels determined to remind Jon of that, even though his whole body is aching with the effort not to just pull Jon’s legs around his waist and grind on him rough and fast till he comes on Jon’s belly. 

He takes Jon’s chin in one hand and tilts his head to the side so he can kiss Jon’s jawbone, press his nose to the incredibly sweet soft skin beneath it and breathe in. Kiss the skin below his ear. Jon makes a whining sound, says, “Tommy.” His hands are pressing at Tommy’s shoulders, pushing Tommy away a little and then grabbing and pulling him in. “Tommy.”

“Do you want to stop?” asks Tommy, mouth against Jon’s throat. Jon is arching against him and making little soft panting sounds.

“No,” says Jon. He laughs a little breathless laugh. “God. No. I definitely should but I do not.”

Tommy kisses Jon’s collarbones, sets his teeth lightly against the bare skin of Jon’s shoulder where his too big hoodie is sliding down. Jon shakes against him. 

Tommy wants to shove his nose in Jon’s armpit and breathe in. He always thought that was kind of an inexplicable sex thing but for some reason at this moment he gets it and wants it. Jon is the hottest person in the world to him right now, in like an animal way. Tommy likes the way he smells.

He doesn’t do that though, because it would be too fucking weird. Instead he kisses Jon, still gentle and slow but deep and dirty, keeps kissing him and kissing him until Jon is twitching underneath him, all covered up. He’s making little whimpery sounds that zing through Tommy’s body like electricity. He’s clinging to Tommy’s shoulders and running his hands through Tommy’s sweaty hair and when Tommy pulls back to look at his face Jon’s eyes are so fucking dark.

“I take it back,” Jon says, smiling a little. “You’re a great boyfriend surrogate, Tommy. You should really like, monetize this service you provide.”

“I don’t know,” says Tommy. “Most people don’t have such low expectations.”

Jon shoves up against him rebelliously and fuck, Tommy can feel how hard Jon is through his sweatpants. Tommy puts his hands on Jon’s hips, pinning them down, and in response Jon bites Tommy’s shoulder, not a gentle graze of teeth like Tommy did to him before but _hard_. It hurts.

Tommy doesn’t take the goad. He keeps Jon pinned, kisses his soft throat, nuzzles into him until Jon relaxes again, slowly and begrudgingly, and starts making those sounds again, jesus. Little soft sounds in his throat like when he’s getting fucked. He pulls at Tommy’s shirt.

“I wanna feel you,” he says, breathless, and Tommy doesn’t have any defense against the rush of warmth that makes him feel. He sits up, straddling Jon’s hips, grabs the back of the neck of his shirt and yanks it off over his head.

Jon bites his knuckle, looking up at him. “God I love how straight boys take their shirts off,” he says. “There’s like, no fucking good reason to take it off that way, it’s just more work.”

Tommy doesn’t say, _don’t call me straight when I’m about to put my dick in you_. He guesses thinking about Tommy that way is what makes this hot for Jon and if so that’s fine with Tommy. He doesn’t have any real reason to try to change how Jon sees him, not at this moment- when Jon is looking at him with open desire in his big dark eyes and his mouth is a little slack, a little open. His mouth that he just let Tommy kiss for twenty minutes straight.

He pulls Jon’s hoodie off, kisses his chest and his belly. Jon’s hands are in his hair, so gentle. He turns his head to kiss the palm of Jon’s hand, his wrist. Jon laughs, says, “Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. I swear to god.”

“What do you want?” asks Tommy.

Jon tries to move his hand away but Tommy puts his own hand over it, traps it against the side of his face.

“Are you like – in a hurry?” Jon asks. He’s looking down his chest at Tommy, brow furrowed a little, eyes dark. “Like what are you doing today, after this.”

Tommy tries not to smile. “Nothing, really,” he says. “I gotta go to Home Depot later, handle some house shit. Nothing urgent.”

Jon doesn’t say anything else. Tommy goes back to kissing his belly and Jon shifts under him, laughs uncomfortably.

“I see what this is,” Jon says. “You’re using me to procrastinate.”

“Sure,” says Tommy. He presses his open mouth against the warm skin of Jon’s hip, sucks lightly. Sweeps his thumbs slow and gentle under the waist of Jon’s sweatpants. 

Jon lets out a long frustrated groan, says, “Okay, okay. Since you ask so nicely, sure, I’ll help you procrastinate. Wanna fuck?”

“Yes,” says Tommy. He slides Jon’s sweatpants down, presses his thumb against the damp spot on the front of Jon’s underwear, feels Jon’s dick twitch. “Tommyjon for Tommyjohn,” he says, and smiles up at Jon.

It feels so fucking good and easy and right to be inside Jon. Their bodies work together so well - every single time it amazes Tommy, especially when they haven’t fucked for a while. Whenever he thinks about having sex with Jon after it’s been a while, for some reason he mainly remembers it as just a sweet abstraction. Feeling close to Jon, feeling comfortable and happy. He forgets this whole other part of it - the crazy hot wordlessness of it. Pressing Jon’s right knee up to his shoulder and fucking him open with four fingers, sweat stinging in Tommy’s eyes. Knowing without asking when Jon is ready for him - putting the condom on with silent efficiency, Jon holding onto his own shaking thigh to keep himself held open for Tommy, knowing to reach back with his other hand and brace against the wall before Tommy slides into him. Their eyes catching and the flash of heat through Tommy so intense it hurts when Tommy moves just right and Jon gasps and winces with pleasure, bites down hard on his lower lip.

Tommy never gets so caught up in his own experience of sex that he can’t also focus on reading his partner's signals, responding to them. That’s how he’s gotten to be pretty decent at sex, over time. Jon though - Jon gets to a point that Tommy fucking loves to see where he’s just gone, where he can’t be self-conscious about his beautiful thick little body that Tommy loves so much and that Jon regards with such weary resigned ambivalence. A point where he can’t hold back the amazing little sounds he makes when Tommy is fucking him just right, just the good side of too rough - sweet little sounds that embarrass Jon and that he tries to hold back and replace with the sounds he thinks he should make.

Jon fumbles for Tommy’s hand, the one braced in a fist on the bed, drags it up to his throat. Tommy shifts the balance of his weight so he can encircle Jon’s throat loosely with his hand - not pressing, just holding. Jon doesn't like to be choked, that makes him anxious, but he likes to know that Tommy’s in control, and Tommy likes that also - likes it too much, way too fucking much. 

One time, early on, when Tommy was still confused and hopeful about what this was or might end up being, Jon had slept in Tommy’s bed in DC after they fucked and at one point in the middle of the night, he cuddled into Tommy and pulled Tommy’s hand to his throat - just like he had earlier when he was begging Tommy to fuck him harder, but it felt so, so different when Jon was half asleep and not looking for anything. So sweet and trusting, acting like it make him feel safe to feel like Tommy was in control, protecting him. 

It’s been fucking years but Tommy can barely think about that moment without feeling overwhelmed, remembering holding Jon’s soft throat in his hand and feeling Jon’s slow peaceful heartbeat against his palm. Jon making a warm little sound and curling into him, the little spoon. Wearing Tommy’s softest t-shirt, sleeping peacefully while Tommy held him close and safe. Tommy wasted so many hours and days and years wracking his brain wondering what that kind of thing meant. As it turns out, like most things in life, it meant nothing - felt vivid and important and desperate at the time and then just ended and faded.

Tommy didn’t mean to let his mind slip there. He’s worked hard on himself the past couple of years, had no alternative, but he’s still stuck in some of the same shitty places, apparently. He takes his hand off of Jon’s throat. When Jon makes an agonized sound in objection Tommy sticks his fingers in Jon’s mouth instead, makes him suck on them. 

“Gonna make you come so hard,” he promises, low in Jon’s ear, and Jon takes a deep breath, bites down on Tommy’s fingers. Tommy hooks his fingers over Jon’s jaw, drags his mouth open, shoves his head back against the pillow. Tommy worries for a second that he’s being too rough (which he can be sometimes) and falters, but Jon likes it, shuts his eyes tight and groans.

Tommy comes first - doesn’t mean to but Jon looks and feels and smells so good and Tommy hasn’t fucked anyone in a while, hasn’t fucked Jon in a really long while. He pulls out and deals with the condom as quickly as he can, while Lovett, flushed and panting, berates him.

“Sorry,” Tommy says, breathless.

“Just- fucking-” snaps Jon, slapping his hand in frustration against the wall he’s braced against, grabbing at Tommy’s wrist with his other hand. Tommy slides his fingers into Jon, kneels over him and fucks him with one hand, jerks him off with the other. Jon squirms, pushes back hard against Tommy, almost knocking him off the bed before he can adjust his balance.

“Can you - harder?” asks Jon, voice cracking. His eyes are closed and he’s frowning deeply in concentration.

Tommy doesn't answer, just focuses on complying and finding the rhythm Jon likes. His heart is pounding and he keeps having to blink sweat out of his eyes. He wants to kiss Jon but he should concentrate on getting him off. Maybe he’ll want to kiss after. Tommy scoots his knee a little closer so his leverage is better, curves his fingers inside Jon in the way that he learned years ago by trial and error. Jon makes a good sound, kicks his foot out, connecting hard with Tommy’s thigh.

“Ouch,” says Tommy. “Lovett.”

“I’m sorry!” says Jon. “Jesus.”

“You better fucking come soon,” warns Tommy. “That really hurt and my wrist is getting tired.”

“Say something mean,” says Jon, breathlessly.

“You look stupid,” says Tommy, lamely.

“That’s too mean,” says Jon reprovingly, cracking one eye open.

Tommy laughs helplessly. “Sorry, Jon,” he says. “You don’t look stupid at all. You look really sexy.”

“Thanks but that’s not helpful,” says Jon.

Tommy shifts so he can lean in and whisper in Jon’s ear again. Jon likes that. “I guess this is another perk of moving to LA,” Tommy murmurs. “I can just fuck you whenever I want again, since you’re so fucking easy.”

“Better,” says Jon in a small voice.

“Yeah?” Tommy looks at Lovett’s closed eyes, his sweet mouth. “Do you really think Jon still doesn’t suspect? That he doesn’t know what a fucking cliche you are, how you can’t control yourself.”

The mention of Favs’ name makes Jon flush hard, makes his dick twitch in Tommy’s hand. Tommy wishes he were a better person.

“Maybe I’ll get off on you in the office sometime,” says Tommy. “I’ll use you when he’s in the other room.” He shoves his fingers deep inside Jon and twists his hand on Jon’s dick, brutal. Jon makes a helpless agonized sound that means he’s close. “Think Favs’d join in if he knew it was on offer? The two of us could make you take it?”

Jon jerks his face away from Tommy’s words and comes. “Fucking hell, Tommy,” he says, laughing.

“Good job,” says Tommy, gently pulling his fingers out, using his sweat soaked t-shirt to wipe off his hands and Jon’s belly.

“Fuck,” says Jon, ragged, his hand over his eyes.

“If you go to Home Depot with me,” says Tommy, “I’ll buy you breakfast first. Real breakfast.”

“No tempeh shit?” says Jon, peeking out cautiously.

“No tempeh shit,” agrees Tommy. “I was just trying that the _one_ time, god. It’s not like my new favorite thing.”

***

Riding in the car with Jon and eating too many breakfast burritos feels warm and bright and good. It reminds Tommy of DC, when they used to do their errands together, spend whole weekends together not bothering to make plans with anyone else. Jon looks so sweet with his freshly showered curls, the neck of his t-shirt all stretched out, his yellow headphones around his neck. He’s chattering a lot and Tommy loves it. He refuses to let Tommy use GPS, taking pride in directing him around, and Tommy lets him, even though Jon’s directions at the best of times are hazy, confusing, and delivered at the last second.

At the Home Depot, Jon makes a bit out of giving Tommy very firm and specific advice about home improvement projects he knows nothing about.

“What you’re gonna wanna do is,” he explains, “is really just slap a lot of gout on it. Just like- as much gout as possible.”

“Really,” says Tommy mildly. “You’re sure you don’t mean grout, now.”

Tommy can’t stop smiling. Jon is gesturing, fidgeting with stuff on the shelves. 

_I wanna kiss him all over his face_ , Tommy thinks with clarity. _Right here_.

“Absolutely,” says Jon seriously, and then breaks character to laugh and say, “Ronan is actually really good at all this shit. He fixes something I didn’t know was broken at my house every time he’s here. He fixed my garbage disposal last time he was in town.”

It’s been so long, but Jon still has this sideways edge in his voice whenever he brings up Ronan to Tommy, like he’s defying Tommy to say something. Say what? Tommy likes Ronan, a lot. None of the complicated emotional mess Tommy is in is Ronan’s fault in any way.

“Send him over to my place,” says Tommy mildly. “There’s plenty of projects for him there.”

Tommy stops at the key copying machine, shifts through his pockets to find his house key. He makes two copies, one for Lovett, one for Favs. He hands Jon his copy when he’s done, and Jon accepts it without looking, scrolling through his phone. They’ve resumed walking, Jon a step behind Tommy, when Jon says, “Wait, what’s this.”

“For my house,” says Tommy. “Just in case. Like if I’m out of town or something.”

“You don’t have any pets, or plants,” says Jon. He sounds annoyed. “What in the world would you want me to go do at your house while you’re out of town?”

“Just- whatever,” says Tommy. He had not anticipated this being a thing to argue over. “Just in case. I made one for Favs too.”

“Okay,” says Jon, sounding unconvinced. “Fine. But I’m not giving you a key to my house.”

Tommy feels a stab of irritation. “Why not?”

“Because!” says Jon, voice rising a little. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know,” says Tommy. “Maybe because you constantly ask me to dogsit? You asked me to dogsit when I lived in fucking San Francisco, like that made any sense.”

“Well,” says Jon. His voice is mean now, mean and mad. Tommy doesn't know what the fuck is going through Jon’s head. “When I want you to dog sit, I’ll give you my spare key for while I’m gone and take it back when I get back. Just like normal people do. Normal, non-clingy adults. Who don’t give their friends keys to their fucking houses like they’re fucking married or something.”

Tommy stopped walking at some point during this speech, turned around to face Jon. He’s fucking pissed now and he knows it’s showing on his face, in the way he really tries not to with Jon, but he doesn’t care right now. Jon is being such a shit-head, hurtful for no reason, and he has to fucking know it. After all this time, he should fucking know what bruises not to press on. Just like Tommy knows with him.

“Stop,” says Tommy. Jon is still talking but Tommy talks under him, purposefully lowering his voice and speaking slower in the way that sometimes cuts through Jon’s nonsense, makes him listen. “Stop it, Lovett. Knock it off. You’re being a jerk and hypocrite.”

Jon’s mouth falls open in disbelief. He stares at Tommy and Tommy feels a sick stab of accomplishment at getting him to shut the fuck up.

“I’m- I’m the hypocrite?” demands Jon.

“Yes,” says Tommy calmly, even though his heart is beating too fast and he feels utterly humiliated by this scene they’re causing. “One, you’re flying off the fucking handle over something that doesn’t matter, and two, you fucking treat me like I’m married to you when it fucking suits you to, so don’t you fucking dare act like I’m completely out of line here.”

Jon is still staring at him, blinking fast in the way that means that he might start crying. Jon cries really easily when he’s stressed or angry, much easier than he cries when he’s genuinely upset. Tommy stares back, holding his ground, feeling a mixture of vindication and regret. 

“How the fuck am I supposed to treat you?” says Jon finally, harshly. “It’s been years. You won’t fucking deal with your shit. You won’t fucking move on. You put all that work onto me, make me set those limits and then you just fucking ignore them. You crawl into my fucking bed, Tommy.”

Tommy feels himself go pale. He’s so goddamn stupid. Over and over again, the same mistakes. Holding on tighter and tighter when people start pulling away, just like with Katie. He truly had thought he wasn’t doing that with Jon, was purposefully doing the opposite, but who the fuck was he kidding. He fucking moved to LA.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he starts, in a measured voice. Jon is already furiously shaking his head, turning away. “I shouldn't have done that, this morning. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“No,” says Jon, still shaking his head. His voice is wobbling now, for real. “Don’t act like that either. Don’t fucking - _god_ , I hate you sometimes.”

“That’s ok,” says Tommy inanely. “Jon - here, just. Wait a sec. Calm down.” He doesn’t want Jon to have to cry over this in the Home Depot. That’s unfair, and Jon will hate him for it.

“Give me the car keys, please,” says Jon, wiping hard at his eyes. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

“No, we can just leave,” says Tommy, desperately. “Let’s just leave, Jon.” 

“No!” snaps Jon. “ _Don’t_ be nice to me! We’re having a fight.”

He grabs the car keys from Tommy, roughly, and walks off, too fast.

Tommy walks three laps around the circumference of the store. He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. He looks at the people around him and makes up grounding stories about them. Then he leaves, without any of the things he came for, except the key copies.

Jon is sitting in the car with his yellow headphones on, frowning at his phone. His eyes are a little red but otherwise he looks completely normal. Tommy sits next to him, doesn’t start the car.

“Can we start this day over?” he asks.

Jon pushes his headphones down to his neck, doesn’t look at Tommy. “I’m sorry for flying off the handle,” he says, like he’s reciting from a script. “I’m sorry for being too mean. I take back the meanness, but not the content.”

“I understand,” says Tommy. “I’m sorry too.” 

Jon shakes his head a little, smiles bitterly. “Oh, Tommy,” he says. “Tommy, Tommy. When are you ever gonna learn?”

“I don’t know,” says Tommy. “Learn what?”

“That it’s always gonna be like this, with me,” says Jon, sharp.

Tommy thinks for a long time about how to answer. He looks out the windshield of his car at the person in the red vest grimly wrangling a long line of carts, weaving along just barely under control.

“No matter what you do, Jon,” he says finally, settling for a tone of lightness. “You can’t make me not want to be around you. Just - get that through your thick skull.”

Jon makes a sour face.

“I’ll stop pushing your limits,” says Tommy, quietly. “I promise that. Okay? I’m sorry and I promise.”

He feels awful for making Jon cry. He wants to reach over and squeeze the back of Jon’s neck, but he knows the violent physical rejection that would ensue if he tried that at this moment.

“Truce?” he says, instead.

“Truce,” says Jon. “Oh and by the way, I didn’t pay for the fucking key. So that’s like Tommy Vietor’s first ever instance of shoplifting. You’re welcome for that.”

“Not first by a long shot,” says Tommy mildly, starting the car.

***

At home alone that evening, Tommy makes himself a gin and tonic, puts on Chance the Rapper, and starts unpacking. The rest of the day had been fragile, them treating each other delicately. When they met Favs and Emily for dinner, Favs sized it up immediately and gave Tommy a knowing look, which Tommy couldn't help but feel irritated by. What Favs meant by the look was, _oh boy, another Lovett meltdown, huh?_ And that’s not really a fair characterization of what happened. Tommy has plenty of meltdowns of his own. He has a Vietor meltdown every goddamn day. He’s just savvier than Lovett at masking them.

When Tommy is a little warmly buzzed and has made a good headway into unpacking the kitchen stuff, he sits in the living room, thinks about texting Jon. Something easy and funny, something to re-set the tone back to normal. They’ve had lots of practice re-setting their tone back to normal. 

Tommy chews on his lower lip, scrolls up in their message thread while he thinks about what to say, but before he can fully frame a joke, his phone buzzes. Jon sent, _hey_.

Tommy pauses, waiting, but nothing else comes.

He sends back, _Hey_. Cautious.

_Are you mad at me Tommy?_

Tommy doesn’t know what to do with that. He resists all his kneejerk responses, puts his phone down on the couch. Goes into the kitchen to make himself another drink. Comes back, answers, _Only because our fight derailed my goal of having actual blinds up in my house by tonight_.

 _Sorry_ , says Lovett. _Can we come in?_

_Who is we and where are you??_

_Pundit and me. We’re in your yard._

“Godammit, Lovett,” says Tommy aloud, softly.

He takes his drink out to the porch. There they are - Lovett on the edge of the grass, partly in shadow, looking down at his phone and holding Pundit’s lead. Pundit poking around.

“Is your dog shitting in my yard?” says Tommy, standing barefoot in the open door, gin in hand.

“It’s free fertilizer,” says Jon, putting his phone in his pocket. “You’re welcome.”

Pundit runs onto the porch to see Tommy and that gives Tommy a minute of crouching down to pet Pundit and keep her from drinking gin from his glass to figure out what to say next.

“Well,” he says, looking up at Jon who has followed Pundit onto the porch. “I guess you want me to invite you in.”

Jon shrugs. “If you want,” he says. “Our feelings won’t be hurt either way.”

Tommy doesn’t reply, just steps back to leave the doorway open, takes a sip of his drink.

“You want one?” he says, when they’re inside. Jon’s taken Pundit’s lead off and gotten her a bowl of water, but he still hasn’t looked at Tommy.

“No, thanks,” says Jon, distracted. 

“What’s on your mind?” says Tommy, because it’s clear Jon won’t get to whatever the point is on his own.

Jon runs his hands up and down his own forearms like he’s cold, an unconscious gesture. He frowns. “Can we sit down?”

“Okay, I feel like we’re about to break up,” jokes Tommy, to lighten up the uneasy feeling in his gut.

Jon shoots him a scathing look. When they sit on the couch, Jon sits right next to Tommy even though there’s plenty of space. He hauls Pundit up to hold her.

“Sorry about your lack of blinds,” he says. “Guess your neighbors will just have to look at your stupid abs a little while longer.”

“You should apologize to them about that, not me,” says Tommy. He drinks the last of his gin.

“Have I managed to make you regret moving here yet?” Jon demands.

“I think you really overestimate the effect you have on people,” says Tommy. He reaches over to scratch Pundit’s head.

Jon laughs, kind of short and scratchy. “Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “Just give me some more time. Distance starts to seem real appealing. Just ask Ronan.”

“Oh, cut it out, Lovett,” says Tommy. Jon shoots him a look, startled and maybe also pleased. “You’re not the reason Ronan lives in New York. Even you can’t be egomaniacal enough to make that all about you.”

“Fair,” says Jon. “I’m not here to fish for reassurance though, I swear.”

“Good, cause I got none for you,” says Tommy.

“That’s my boy,” says Jon. “There’s that signature nihilism you hide so well.”

“Why are you here then?” asks Tommy.

Jon gives him a slow, keen look. “Just checking on you,” he says.

“I’m fine, Jon.” Tommy leans back. “We’re fine. We’re all good here.”

Jon nods, shrugs. “Okay, good. Cause I was really only moderately awful. Would be worried if that was enough to tip you over the edge into hating me.”

Tommy laughs a little laugh, not because it was funny, just to let Jon know it’s really okay, and he can see Jon’s face ease a little, nothing obvious. Something Tommy might have missed the first year or two of knowing Jon.

“Anyway,” says Jon, “I’m sure I’ll become excruciating soon enough.”

“I think I can handle you,” says Tommy.

Jon looks away from Tommy’s eyes, makes an annoyed face. “Stop being sexy,” he says, rudely.

Tommy laughs, startled. “Okay. Sorry. I’ll try.”

Jon kisses Pundit’s head and gently shifts her off his lap so he can turn towards Tommy and take the empty gin glass from Tommy’s hand. He presses a gentle, soft kiss to the side of Tommy’s throat, just below his jaw. Tommy’s breath catches.

“What was that for?” he says, finally. 

Jon is looking at him, intently and fondly. “You know what it was for,” he says.

“Hmm,” says Tommy. “Maybe if you do it one more time I’ll understand better.”

Jon huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. “You only get a fixed quotient of apology niceness,” he admonishes. “Don’t get greedy.” 

He kisses Tommy on the mouth, and Tommy doesn't know how he could ever not be greedy for this. It would amaze him, how he can want Jon this much when he just had him this morning, but he figured out a long time ago that there’s no amount of having Jon that will make this ache ease or go away. 

He slides his hand up Jon’s thigh and Jon pulls back, just a little. “No blinds,” he reminds Tommy. “Neighbors.”

“Fuck ‘em,” says Tommy. “They get a free show.”

Jon tastes so good and his mouth is so soft under Tommy’s. One of his hands is in Tommy’s hair, and when Tommy gets a little more aggressive, Jon’s fingers tighten. Tommy has Jon half pulled onto his lap, but when Jon starts twitching his hips forward a little, Tommy makes himself slow down, pull back. 

“I’m a little drunk, Jon,” he says, quietly, like it’s a secret, smiling at Jon.

“I know,” says Jon. “It’s adorable, frankly.”

“Wanna, like, put a pin in this, for now,” says Tommy, touching the tip of Jon’s nose. Jon scrunches his face up in response and it’s so cute.

“Yeah, Tommy,” says Jon. He’s looking at Tommy so clear-eyed and fond. “I’ll be around.”

Tommy’s always been so good at thoroughly imagining a thousand ways anything could go wrong, but he’s not as good at considering all the ways things might go better than he expects. That was one of his goals moving down here. Just to ease up a little, let some things happen. Place fewer bets. Could be bad, could be good. Tommy knows in his heart that most things won’t turn out okay, cause that’s how life is. But he’s figuring out, slowly, that knowing that doesn’t always mean he has to cheat himself of sweetness when it is here, now, in front of him.

**Author's Note:**

> i barf podsa feelings into the void at amazonplanet on tumblr!


End file.
